


Alive and Well

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:06:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Prompt: Root x Shaw happiness. Domestic bliss. Teasing. Fluff. Weirding the rest of the team out by wearing each others clothes and bickering amiably about who's making dinner. Everybody alive and well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive and Well

“Hey, Sweetie,” Root says in Shaw’s ear. Shaw awakens at her voice, then lets her eyes drift around the room sleepily.  _Empty._   _Where is that coming from?_ She thinks, pushing past the fatigue still fuzzy in her head. Shaw sits up, looking across the mattress. The only thing that greets her are empty sheets. Shaking her head, she leans back on her elbows. _Was it in my head?_  She deems it likely, but still, it doesn’t sit right with her.

With a slight twinge of reluctance, she pushes herself from the bed, walking to the bathroom door on the far wall. As she walks, she looks out the thin line of windows, seeing the metallic city glow in the early morning sun.

“Aren’t you going to say hi back?”

* * *

 

Shaw stops mid-step, eyes flickering in surprise. She whips around quickly to her right, hearing the voice again extremely close. _Nothing._  Brow creasing slightly, she brings her hand up to her ear. She trails it down from the top, and soon enough she feels smooth plastic within her ear canal. Dropping her hand, she lets out a small sigh of relief. _I left my earwig in._

“Even when you’re not here, you find a way to sneak up on me,” Shaw mutters, continuing her walk to the bathroom. The white floors are cold against her bare feet, sending an awakening jolt through her body with each step.

“It’s not  _my_ fault you slept with it in,” Root counters amiably, far too pleasant for such an early hour.

Shaw opens her mouth to respond, but stops. According to Shaw, Root is exactly the reason. They’d gone out that night- Root, Shaw, Fusco, and John- sitting around with some drinks and tales to tell. Lionel mostly, as John liked to keep his mouth shut, and Shaw wouldn’t dream of saying anything from her past. Root commented aloud here and there, but spent most of her time watching Shaw or whispering into her ear. Shaw remembers the annoyed snarl that continuously pulled on her lip at seeing John’s amused smirk, eyes promising never to let the moment go.

 _‘Let’s go for a walk,’_ Root suggested after an hour of smoldering glares and three threats, and Shaw easily agreed. Bidding the men farewell, Root and Shaw took to the streets, cool night air welcoming after the stifling warmth of the bar. Together, they walked aimlessly for a time, not saying anything but not needing to anyway. Then, as they turned out of their side street, Root could hear the pulsing vibrations of music flooding the air. Ahead, trees were lit with flashing lights of all colors, and neon glow sticks streaked through the air. Shaw herself felt indifferent with the ordeal, but one look at Root, and she knew Root’s curiosity was mounting. Without another moment’s hesitation, Root grabbed Shaw’s hand and pulled her towards the scene.

Shaw could feel electric bursts shooting into her palm and up her arm at the touch, sensation only growing wilder when she folded her fingers over Root’s. Closer now, she could make out where they were. Somehow, they’d managed to roam all the way to Central Park.

The band was foreign to Shaw’s ears, but Root hadn’t seemed to mind it, pushing her way forward and into the outskirts of the large crowd- dragging Shaw along with her.

Shaw turns on the sink faucet, splashing icy water over her face. Her muscles still ached with the long day, long night, and even longer walk home. It had been nearly two a.m. when she entered her apartment, and she’d instantly crashed on her bed. Earwig and all. _How can Root be so chipper?_ Shaw mutters to herself. In her earwig, she can hear honking horns and the mumbles of pedestrians.

“Where are you?” Shaw asks, bringing her toothbrush to her mouth.

“Out front of your apartment building.”

“Why?” Shaw voice is muffled by the toothbrush. She turns towards the door, heading back to the windows.

“I need a shirt.” Shaw’s brow raises slightly at the odd reasoning, but she brushes it aside.

“Well, I hope you wore  _something_  to walk over here,” Shaw tells her; Root gives a small chuckle on her end. Peering down from her row of windows, she sees a familiar face looking up her way, a little more than a pin prick in her sight. “What are you waiting for,” Shaw says to her, a sliver of a smile forming on her lips. “An invitation?”

“It  _would_ be nice,” Root coos back, and Shaw rolls her eyes.

“I need to get a shower,” she says, all play gone from her voice as she leaves the window’s edge. “Come up and get whatever you need.”

_______\ If Your Number’s Up /________

“Tell me, why did you walk  _all_ the way to my apartment for one of my shirts?” Shaw asks, hands stuffed into her black jean pockets. They walk down the street easily, in no rush to get to their destination.

“Well, it wasn’t  _initially_ for one of your shirts,” Root responds, letting her eyes trail along Shaw’s features. “I’m being interviewed for a job today- you know how She is- and I left my good blouse at your place. When I was rummaging through the drawers I found this.” Root holds the fabric out between her fingers. The rest of the sweater’s lace neckline and sleeve cuffs are concealed under her dark jacket.

A burst of icy wind travels past, and Shaw’s arms tense up to fight off the cold. With the heat of her shower quickly fading, the day’s chilly fingers encase Shaw’s bare skin. She can picture her jacket crinkled up on the edge of her bed, and wonders why she hadn’t thought to bring it.

“What’s so  _special_ about it anyway?” Shaw asks, ignoring the cold seeping into her skin. She’d never cared for how it looked- the way it fit her- and discarded it into the back corner of the dresser. How Root had found it was beyond her.

“It’s yours.”

The only thing that keeps Shaw from rolling her eyes is the sincerity in Root’s voice. It’s sheepish and excited, like a child winning the largest prize at a carnival. Shaw’s muscles uncoil comfortably beside Root, but a moment too soon.

For another wave of wind crashes over her, and- unprepared for the hit- she feels the frigid air consume her. A prickling sensation overtakes her arms where goosebumps travel, and coldness shoots down her back, causing her to shudder involuntarily. Looking over at her, Root’s lip pulls into a concerned slant.

“Do you want my jacket?” Root asks.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re freezing.”

Before Shaw can protest, Root’s gate slows, and she pulls off her jacket, laying it over Shaw’s shoulders. Shaw halts in her tracks, eyes cold as ice but burning like Hell. Root nearly bumps into her, and with one quick look, feels an unease surfacing in her stomach, wondering if she shouldn’t have done that.

However, after a moment, the glare fades away, and Shaw slips her arms through the sleeves, fingertips just barely poking out of the ends. They pick up walking once more while she works the buttons.

As they turn the corner towards an abandoned subway entrance, they see a man in a fedora, dog walking along his flank. Root’s brown eyes meet his blue ones, and he stops just before the entrance, waiting. Root watches his eyes twist to curiosity, and he looks them both up and down behind rectangular glasses.

“Hi Harry.” Harold gives Root a short, warm nod in greeting, but his mind is too preoccupied for anything more.

“Is that… Ms. Groves’s jacket?” He asks Shaw, and her eyes narrow.

“ _Mhmm_ ,” Root replies for her with a bubbling affection in her response, doting eyes fixed on Shaw as she slips her hand into hers. “And  _this_ is her shirt,” she adds with pride.  _Like we’d planned this or something,_  Shaw grumbles to herself. Harold nods, pretending to understand more of it than he truly does, then steps back, gesturing for the two of them to walk through.

They all file in, Bear pulling at his leash energetically. Finally at the terminal, Harold sets him free, and he barrels through the station.

He scampers over to his bedding and toys, skidding against the floor as he tries to stop, and slams into the wall of the subway car. The sound echoes through the empty corners, but he seems not to notice, already rushing back across the tile floor, toy wedged between his teeth with his eyes set on Shaw.

Root loosens her hold on Shaw’s hand, and Shaw sinks easily into a crouch, hands resting on her knees. He nearly knocks her down, all of his momentum directed straight towards her, and his tail thumps happily against her side as she messes up his fur with a fond rub.

“ _Hi, Handsome_ ,” she greets with a smile, and he pushes his muzzle to her hand, giving her the slobbery play thing. She takes hold of half, and he shakes his head wildly, trying to pull it back. Root watches them both with amusement, heart skipping a beat at seeing the smile on Shaw’s face.

Reluctantly, Root heads into the subway cart, grabbing a briefcase from the small table within, then places a pair of dark-rimmed glasses over her eyes. Checking the watch on her phone, she sees she only has ten minutes to make it to the interview. With a sigh, she heads back out, downcast disposition fading away at the sight of Shaw sitting cross-legged with Bear, his head resting on her knee and tail sweeping the ground blissfully. She rubs his ears, sliver of a smile on her relaxed features.

“Guess you have to have four legs to get any attention around here,” Root says jokingly, a twinge of mock-wistfulness in her tone. Shaw looks up from Bear to see a crooked smirk on Root’s face. Shaw’s eyes travel along Root’s form, taking in her glasses and wavy hair that rests on her shoulders. She takes in the shirt, eyebrows pulling up almost microscopically. The lace trim of the neck line falls just under Root’s collarbone, leaving the slightest bit of her shoulders exposed. The sleeves end just at the first joint of Root’s thumb, revealing pale, delicate fingers fitted in black nail polish.

Shaw finds herself at a lack for words, every snide thought and sarcastic reply lost within her as she watches Root approach. Stopping in front of Shaw, Root lifts one eyebrow curiously, an underlying smugness waiting to burst free. Finally, Shaw shakes her head, smallest half-smile peeking out.

“Guess so,” she replies casually, knowing the cool response will be unsatisfactory to the woman before her. Shaw stands, letting Bear’s head gently settle to the ground, and pulls her-  _Root’s_ \- jacket straight. Stepping forward, Shaw wraps her arms around Root, lacing her fingers together behind Root’s back. She can feel Root jump at the sudden touch, and fights off the urge to tease. However, of all the things Shaw could control, anger and sarcasm were not one of them. “ _Scared_?”

Root laughs, but it is breathy with her heart beating too fast and her nerves dancing too hard. “With  _you_?” She asks, letting her head rest Shaw’s forehead. “Never.” Shaw gives her a smirk, pulling her in closer.

A phone rings.

Both freeze a moment, suspending in time, but the ringing continues to fill all the air around them. Root’s hand slips to her pant pocket, fishing out a cellphone screaming to be heard. Not moving her face away, she answers the call.

“Hello?” Her voice is conversational and businesslike, losing its suggestiveness from before.

“Hi, Miss. Foster? You are scheduled for an interview in five minutes… Are you still coming?”

Root looks up at Shaw, eyes meeting, and smiles. “I’m on my way,” she says, slipping free of Shaw’s hold, heels clicking against the tile floor as she heads out.

Shaw watches her disappear into shadows, then stuffs her hands in her jacket pockets, looking around. She catches Harold’s eye, and she can see the shock written all over his face.

Shaw’s lip curls into a defensive sneer, and a snarl escapes between clenched teeth. “ _What_.”

_______\ We’ll Find You /_______

Shaw sits on one of the subway cart’s plastic chairs, large monitors tuned into a news station. At her side, she can hear footsteps, and John steps past her, sitting on her right. They share a glance, and then he pulls out his gun, disarming it and beginning to clean it.

“And a third earthquake has wracked Nepal this afternoon…”

“How’s work, Honey?” Root’s chipper voice greets Shaw from her earpiece, and Shaw instantly sits up a little straighter, eyes focused. From the side, John’s eyes flicker over to Shaw before settling back on the television screen, ear still planted into the conversation.

“Slow,” Shaw replies, giving John a quick look over to see if he can hear them. His expression shows no sign of acknowledgement, yet she keeps her voice inaudible. “How’s the interview?”

“Going pretty well,” Root tells her simply. “He had to step out for an important call, so I thought I’d make one of my own.”

“How  _thoughtful_ ,” Shaw replies sarcastically, and she hears Root’s melodic laugh on the other end of the line.

“For dinner, I’m thinking… Fettuccine Alfredo and chicken?”

“Alright, I’ll stop at the store and start it when I get out of here,” Shaw says, leaning into the back of her seat.

“Uh, no, that’s alright, Sam,” Root says with kind caution. “I’ll cook.”

“ _Why_ …” Shaw asks skeptically, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I just- I cook more often,” Root replies; Shaw’s jaw sets.

“Are you saying I’m a  _bad_ cook?” Shaw asks with silent indignation, practically seeing Root’s eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights.

“Only a little,” Root jokes.

“Then let me do it,” Shaw persists. “I need the practice.”

“But I  _like_ cooking,” Root counters, smile in her words. Shaw dares another quick glance at John, silently hoping he cannot hear.

“I  _want_ to do it,” Shaw tells her, silently but with conviction. “I want to make you something nice.” She mumbles out, then hears a light snicker at her side. Snapping her head to the right, she sees an uneven grin on John’s face, eyes lit with humor. Shaw’s eyes burn spitefully at him, an embarrassed red painting her hears.

“Just let me, please?” Root asks, but the words are lost on Shaw, whose full focus is directed on trying to light John on fire with her red-hot gaze. “Sameen?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Shaw seethes, temper flaring. From the other end of the line, she can hear a door open, and the blurred noise of a man’s voice.

“See you later,” Root signs off playfully, and the line drops dead. But not fully dead, Shaw realizes, because a silent breathing fills the line. Shaw whacks the earwig off angrily.

“Am I invited?” John asks, holding back a laugh. Shaw’s hands curl into fists, eyes coming to slits.

“Invited  _where_ ,” Shaw demands with venomous words, already knowing the answer.

“To your special home-made dinner for  _three_ ,” he answers with a smirk.

“You mean two.”

John shakes his head. “Nice offer, but I really think you should let Root join us.”

“ _She_ wasn’t the one I was  _cutting out_ ,” Shaw spits, and John finally laughs.

“Who knew you had such a soft spot,” he gets out between hearty rumbles. It pushes Shaw over the edge, and she rises dangerously to her feet.

“I have half a mind to  _kill_ you with my bare hands,” Shaw tells him, voice like a lethal injection.

“You can’t,” John replies, half-smile tugging at his lip. “You have a dinner to make.”

Shaw can feel her body filled to the brim with anger, muscles tense and ears billowing smoke. Turning on her heel, she stalks from the station, muttering her short farewell to Harold before escaping through the terminal’s exit.

_____\ Alive and Well /_____

In the end, they wound up sharing the effort, deciding to eat dinner at Shaw’s apartment.

“Did you get the job?” Shaw asks, stirring noodles around a large pot.

“Doesn’t matter,” Root replies. “The plan wasn’t to get a job, but to get into  _building_.” Shaw nods, placing the spoon down on the counter.

“What for?” Shaw says curiously, glancing at Root out of the corner of her eye.

“Just had to place some cameras around.” Root stops, fumbling for her phone before pulling it out of her pocket, then unlocks it quickly. A few taps later, and a split screen of two computer labs appear. Shaw leans into Root’s arm to get a better look, then shakes her head with a slight frown, still not understanding it all.

“But what’s the purpose?”

“Dunno,” Root replies simply, stowing her phone away with a shrug. “But I’m sure it’ll be relevant at some point. Oh, by the way,” Root adds, leaning her back against the cold counter top, “remind me to give this back to you before I go.” She gestures to the shirt, then begins to turn away.

“You can keep it,” Shaw tells her, and Root stops, turning back to Shaw with a quizzical furrow to her brow.

“Why?” She asks, stunned. “Don’t you want it?”

“Nah,” Shaw replies casually. “Never liked it before.” She gives Root a look-over, letting her eyes take in the shirt before bringing her eyes back to Root’s. “But, I like it now.”

Shaw can feel a satisfying warmth forming in her chest at the way Root tries to hide her obvious delight; pressing her lips together as they fight to rise into a robust grin, eyes euphoric, and a soft pink glowing on her cheeks.

“Thanks,” Root says feebly, still too overcome with a bubbling giddiness to say much else. She lets her arms drape over Shaw’s shoulders, leaning in.

There is a knock at the door. Loud and insistent, indignant and yearning to be heard. Shaw closes her eyes in annoyance.

“Didn’t know you were expecting company,” Root says jokingly, and Shaw rests her hands on Root’s hips.

“I  _wasn’t_.”

The knocking comes once more.

“Whoever it is’ll go away eventually,” Shaw murmurs, drawing Root in.

“We know you’re in there, Shaw,” the familiar voice of John Reese had never sounded so acidic in Shaw’s ears. She can feel her muscles tense, fingers tightening at Root’s waist.

“Go  _away_ , John,” she calls back to him, anger and amusement mixed within her voice. Being so close to Root, she couldn’t feel too serious.

“I can’t,” he replies.

“Why not?”

“Because I told Finch we were eating dinner.”

 _Finch?_  Shaw thinks,  _no, he didn’t bring-_

“Are you  _sure_ we should be here?” Shaw freezes up, hearing Harold’s muffled voice on the other side of the thin, wooden door.

“ _Relax_ , Harold, it’s fine,” John assures him in a quieted tone. Then, he clears his throat. “I brought drinks?” There is the sound of tinkling glass as he undoubtedly shakes a cardboard container. When Shaw opens her eyes, she sees Root’s amused smile directed right at her. Shaw can tell by the grin that devious gears are turning in her head, and Shaw’s jaw tightens.

“ _Don’t_. Do.  _It_.”

Root slips free from Shaw, bringing her hands back to her sides and angles her head towards the door. With a laugh in her voice, she calls out, “It’s open!”


End file.
